


Vida ne Buduscheye

by Tanalilt



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Abuse, BDSM, Blood, Bondage, Breathplay, Humiliation, M/M, Torture, Violence, specific warnings as I get to them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-06 15:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1863336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanalilt/pseuds/Tanalilt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>виды на будущее - Vida ne Buduscheye - means perspective, outlook, or expectation. </p><p>At times, it is good to look at your life through someone else's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Voices echoed through the cement room down the hall from Snake, reverberating down the hallways and filling half the base. A scream, followed by a soft chuckle, and then the sound of flat wood hitting skin, and the cycle started again. This had been happening for near an hour, although as Snake leaned against the door frame, he saw that it would likely be over soon. 

Strung up was man in his early thirties, naked from the waist up, arms secured above him so his toes barely touched the ground. His stomach purple and red, angry bruises and broken blood vessels splayed across his chest. There were several darker welts crossing his chest and arms that made by a thin wooden dowel, by the looks of it, and occasional cuts in some of the most sensitive places. Collarbone, just under the arm, down the face. His eyes were dazed and out of focus, possibly drugged, but definitely on the edge of consciousness. All of these injuries were shallow, Snake noted. Despite the color of his skin, very little blood had been drawn. It was the first of many sessions this man was to endure. 

Ocelot, arrogance seeming to fill the room as Snake watched, was in charge of the interrogation. Clean and impeccable as always, he was holding a paddle in his hand — wooden or bamboo — which he had been using to slap across the man’s stomach. It wouldn’t cause permanent damage, but it would hurt for days on end and provide pain in the present, which it seemed as though this man wasn’t used to. He wasn’t toned enough to be a soldier of any sort. Not Ocelot’s normal method, Snake noted, but he supposed it would be far more difficult to get information out of someone who passed out at the first sight of blood. He trusted that the interrogator knew his work.

A loud whimper, then the man fell silent, sobbing and letting himself dangle, his shoulders seemingly dislocated. 

Ocelot turned to fetch something else from the table he had set out, seeing Snake as he moved. He smiled. “Nice of you to join us, Snake,” Ocelot said, almost cooed, tossing a bucket of water over the prisoner. It was enough to shock him out of his pain-induced daze, leaving him coughing and sputtering. 

“We were just about to get to some answers, weren’t we?” Ocelot asked. The question was directed to the prisoner as opposed to Snake. The man was shaking and whimpering loudly, and Snake was shifting on his feet ever so slightly, biting the inside of his mouth as he watched. He remembered vividly the first time he had been trained to withstand torture, being trained to not give in. He had been beaten, his nose broken and ribs cracked, in order to be taught how to keep silent. He wondered if he could have lasted as long then as this man had now. Ocelot seemed to be taking a large amount of pleasure in playing with him, like a cat with its food. 

Ocelot chuckled. He pulled a knife from his belt, pressing it against the man’s cheek just below his cheekbone as he held his jaw in place. 

“Now, I’d like to know where you’re hiding those blueprints”, he demanded, voice smooth, but venomous. He dug the blade in just a bit deeper, just as an outburst of sobs came forth, turning into a blubbering answer. 

Snake could see the man’s lip shaking, tears running down his cheek as Ocelot’s knife drew blood.

“We-- we’ve been working out of a section of G-germany,” the man sobbed, shaking as the knife tugged at the skin more with each cry. “Allgäuer Hochalpen… near the border.” 

Ocelot examined his answer for a moment, contemplating his truthfulness and cross referencing what he knew of the area. Snake almost pictured the wheels in his head turning, trying to decide if this information was good enough.

After a moment of deliberation, It seemed as though it was. Ocelot grabbed a syringe from the table, turning back to place it quickly, but with precision, into the man’s neck, injecting the clear liquid into his veins. The prisoner slumped over almost immediately. Snake raised an eyebrow at his companion, who seemed to sense the look with his back turned. 

“I just knocked him out,” he excused himself, grabbing a chair from the side of the room to stand on and unhook the body from its hanging position from the ceiling. “Besides, we could use a scientist around here.” The mans’ body fell gracelessly to the floor, and Ocelot cut the ropes around his wrists. 

Snake kept watch, still not saying a word, as Ocelot went about his cleaning business, humming a tune he was vaguely familiar with, but never quite placed. A few others came in to pick up the body left on the floor, saluting Snake as they walked by, and hoisting the bruised mess down the hall to the medical bay. Snake had no doubt he would give them little trouble, convincing him to work with them. After all, it wasn’t like they had much of an option.

Ocelot had pulled down a hose and was spraying the floor down, taking up the bits of blood that had fallen and started to stain the concrete. Whereas other interrogators kept a dingy, messy space in order to intimidate, Ocelot chose to keep his pristine. He had mentioned once that he preferred to do the work himself, as opposed to letting someone else’s blood and piss do it for him. 

After several minutes, he switched the hose off, turning his full attention to Snake, who hadn’t budged from his arms-crossed position leaning against the door frame. Dropping the hose to the floor, he stalked closer to Snake and looked him over with a tilt of his head, spurs clinking with every step until he came to a stop a few feet away from his boss.

“What is it?”

Snake let out a short breath of air. “I was just curious,” he replied, moving to fetch a cigar out of a case in his pocket, digging for a lighter.

“About what?” Ocelot inquired, almost suspicious. Snake had never taken an interest in his interrogation methods before. As he watched the man fumble for a lighter, Ocelot dug into his own pocket for one. He pulled it out and lit it for the man, who took the flame without any acknowledgement but a strange glance. Ocelot didn’t smoke. 

“About why you seem to enjoy your interrogations so much.” Cigar finally lit, Snake took a drag on the cigar, blowing the hot smoke into the air between them. Ocelot scrunched his nose, but took the question, thinking hard for a moment before coming out with an answer.

“Control,” he said simply, putting his gloved hands into his pockets. Snake considered this for a moment before Ocelot continued, a bit more enthusiastically. “It feels wonderful, to be in control. To have command of everything a person feels, every sensation they have, and to take from them after they’ve tried so hard to resist!”

Ocelot let out a laugh and a crooked smile, taking in the chamber he has just cleaned. Even still, the smell of sweat, blood, and urine filled the room - proof of his work. He looked back to Snake, eyes dragging up his body from boots to face, taking in the simultaneous interest and disgust in Snake’s face. Briefly, he flashed back to seeing Snake strung up the same way the man he had just tortured was, seeing the man lose himself completely, tears down his face, blood and bruises, piss running down his legs. It was a struggle not to lick his lips

“I could show you, if you’d like,” he offered with a smile.

“Let you torture me?” Snake replied with a snort. “Not sure how I feel about that.” He took another drag off the cigar. 

“No, no--” Ocelot chuckled - although he certainly wouldn’t mind having that privilege. “I want you to appreciate from the same place as me - from a perspective of power.” He took another step closer. 

“Torture you?” Snake asked, sounding slightly unsure of himself. 

“I don’t see why not,” Ocelot replied. “It’s not as though I’m not trained to withstand it. Besides, I could teach you the basics. Might come in handy some day.” He had thrown the last bit in as persuasion, but Snake would never need to learn to torture unless he wanted to. Ocelot would always be with him. 

Snake took another contemplative drag on his cigar, avoiding meeting Ocelot’s gaze. “Tonight?”

Ocelot nodded. “That works for me. We’ll meet at 22:00, in the empty store room. More than enough space in there. Give me time to get things set up.” Inside, Ocelot’s heart was jumping. What a day to be alive - to be tortured by the legendary Big Boss. 

Another silence, and then. “Alright,” he sighed, skeptical. “22:00.” And with that, he turned on his heel, heading out of the room to allow Ocelot time to clean and set up, missing the wide smile on the younger’s face and the red quickly filling his cheeks as he thought out his plans for that evening.


	2. Chapter 2

At quarter to ten at night, Ocelot was slowly wearing a track in the floor, pacing circles throughout the room. Though he wasn’t as restless now as he was in his earlier twenties and teenage years, he still had a tendency to pace when alone, or to drum his fingers on surfaces, play with a knife, or twirl his revolvers around his fingers absentmindedly. As such, he had spent the last half hour making sure the room was set up, pacing, checking the clock, pacing, and checking the table of supplies again. 

The room he had found didn’t have any assignment to it. Just a spare store room that they haven’t utilized, and so Ocelot had moved in a table and brought in some of the supplies he had accumulated over the past eight years. Nothing too extreme - just a few things that he felt John would be comfortable trying out, and a few that might be pushing the man’s boundaries. 

Sitting on the table were restraints, both braided rope and leather. Fabric to serve as a gag. A strong plastic bag, reminiscent of the one Volgin had used to cover John’s head. A plain blindfold. A thin, bamboo cane. A gun (one of Ocelot’s own, a revolver too fancy for practical use, meticulously maintained). A knife. A stun gun. A bucket of water. Looking them over, he tried to suppress the bubble of anxiety and excitement that has grown in his chest, chewing on his lip as he checked the clock again.

Five minutes. John was usually a few minutes late, when it was a casual arrangement, and right on time, if it weren’t. Which was this? he thought. He had intended for it to be casual. After all, how formal could asking a man to try and get pleasure out of hurting you be? But he had gone through a lot of preparations for something so casual. Hell, he had even dressed himself differently. An American western-style shirt, black and red, with well-fit dark blue jeans and cowboy boots with spurs - something nice for John to tear into, but not so nice that he couldn’t replace it later.

Four minutes of anxiety later, Ocelot heard footsteps from down the hall. Still not able to stop his heart from pounding, Ocelot instead took a deep breath and leaned to sit against the table and twirled the revolver in his hand and tried to keep his breathing steady. He could hear John’s steps stop, just for a second, outside the door - probably stopped in anticipation or anxiety or something similar - before he walked into the room and shut the door behind him, and took a few steps forward before he looked at Ocelot. Still spinning.

There was a heavy, almost awkward silence for a moment. A long moment. Ocelot’s foot tapped as he twirled the gun around his index finger, unable to keep his eyes from studying John’s posture. Straight back, hands too close to closed to be relaxed, and eye that seemed to be everywhere but Ocelot’s face, and chose instead to stare at the wall directly behind him. With a ‘hmph’, Ocelot pushed away from the table, stepping forward to Big Boss as he continued to look him over, stopping only once they were two feet away. He noticed that John was looking him over in the same way Ocelot had examined John when he first walked in the door - cautious, observing, and too intimate to want to acknowledge. 

“Well? Are we going to get started?”

John snorted. Ocelot bit his lip.

“Just waiting on you,” Ocelot said, and then gestured back to the table for John to have a look at. Keeping his hands to his side, John looked over the array of instruments laid out neatly on the table, hand twitching several times as if he were about to go to pick it up, and then decided against it. 

“Generally, starting with restraints helps,” Ocelot explained, walking over to the table to stand next to Big Boss and watching as his eyes move from one object to another. “But I’m sure you know all about restraints already.” He turned to lean against the table again, sitting on the edge of it as he explained, watching the wall opposite of the one they were against. John didn’t need more pressure on him. “While a lot of the nature of restraints is preventing movement, it’s also about causing discomfort. If you bind someone in a way that they’re comfortable, they have that moment to relax when you aren’t actively focused on them. To make them uncomfortable in their restraints doesn’t allow them a moment of rest, wearing them do-- ah-”

Distracted by his own speech, Ocelot noticed a second too late when his arm is grabbed, pulling him towards Big Boss. His arms were yanked together behind his back, held by a strong hand as he was steered into the table, corner pressed uncomfortably into his hip. John grabbed the rope from the table, wrapping it around Ocelot’s wrists several times before wrapping it around the center and tying it off. Ocelot gave a tiny grunt, feeling at the restraints, and then chuckled. “They feel a bit - nng-!” Another grunt, this time of discomfort, and he was cut off again by a rough grab at his elbows, pressing them together to tie them in the same fashion as his shoulders were drawn back, chest puffed out.

Far faster than he had expected, John secured another piece of rope in a similar fashion around Ocelot’s elbows, holding him in that strained position. He pulled Ocelot backward toward him, talking behind his head.“What was that? They feel a bit loose?” John chuckled before he shoved Ocelot out into the center of the room, watching the blond as he struggled to avoid tripping over his own feet. 

Ocelot turned to look at John, his breathing heavier than it should have been, and heart beating ever so slightly faster, figuring out how to react before cracking a smile. He watched John’s reaction, seeing that the man’s breathing was also slightly heavier than normal, and watched his eye look Ocelot up and down. Learning to admire his own handiwork. 

“This is a good start,” Ocelot instructed as he tried to adjust his shoulders ever so slightly, as the ropes had pulled his shirt collar uneven, showing off his collarbone to one side. “But this is where it gets fun.”

“What do you recommend from here, then?” Big Boss asks, still looking Ocelot over. Were he less proud, Ocelot would have blushed. He obviously enjoyed the sight of Ocelot incapacitated, for one reason or another.

“I suppose that depends on what you want to get from me,” Ocelot said with a small laugh. “Is this an interrogation? A punishment? Or are you just doing this for fun?”

“You mean like you?”

A small pause. “Sometimes,” Ocelot laughed. Ocelot always enjoyed his job as an interrogator, but it was obvious at times that he may push a little too far simply for entertainment value.

John opened his mouth, about to speak, but held his silence for a moment before asking ‘If this is all about you trying to convince me this is enjoyable, what will I enjoy the most?” He asked, now studying Ocelot’s face. Ocelot’s mind went wild. There were so many things he could recommend, so many of his favorites - so many things he would love to have Big Boss do to him. 

“It depends. Different people are fond of different things,” he explained. “For example, I enjoy intimidation and injuries that are painful, but aren’t life-threatening. Humiliation.” Ocelot examined John’s face as he continued, waiting to see a reaction from him, but the man’s face stayed mostly blank. “Knives, guns, electricity. Scarring them, to be sure they can never forget what I did to them.” This got a response - a questioning one.

“You, however,” Ocelot continued, trying to look as poised as he could with his arms behind his back. “You’re physically strong. You might benefit more from using that strength to that advantage.”

A long silence came over them as John looked Ocelot over, trying to decide on a course of action. Though he would never let him know, Ocelot’s heartbeat grew faster every moment they stayed silent. Without warning, John steps forward and grabs Ocelot by the chin, palm down, fingers digging into his cheekbones. 

Ocelot held his breath as John turned his face from side to side, then yanked back to see how tight the hold on his chin was. John didn’t even budge, just kept examining Ocelot’s face, contemplating what to say, until-

“In Groznyj Grad- “ he started, and Ocelot took a sharp breath in. “When I was being tortured, you said that it ‘wasn’t that bad’. ‘The ultimate form of expression,” I believe you said. Ocelot averted his eyes for a second, before John yanked on his chin, a silent order to keep his eyes on him. “Am I the reason you’re so fond of torture?”

Ocelot bit the inside of his mouth. This was an exercise in technique, not a conversation. He didn’t need to follow the conventions of a conversation, or admit to anything. It took all the control he had to keep his breathing steady, and to keep the heat from rising in his face as his pulse continued to slowly rise. 

Unsatisfied with the lack of response, Big Boss gives a small grunt before moving his hand to cover Ocelot’s face, using it to push the man over, knocking him onto the floor with a groan and a hiss. Giving no chance to recover, John kicked him with the top of his foot in the ribs, enough to knock him back another foot and a half. Ocelot reacted with a strangled shout. The damage wouldn’t be enough to break any bones, or cause any internal damage, but there would be bruises for days afterward. 

Ocelot, laying on his side, attempted to rock back and forth to bring himself to sit up, but his arms tied behind him made it difficult, as did the ominous slow walk of John toward his head. Breath speeding up now, he gave one more attempt to sit up before a foot came down on his neck, boot pressing hard into his windpipe as John looked down at him, jaw clenched.

“I remember - you had said that day, that you finally saw what Volgin did in torture.” Letting up on his neck slightly, Ocelot gasped for breath, face growing red as Big Boss put his foot back down, pressing even harder. His voice had grown darker, yet somehow more playful. At the very least, Ocelot thought, he seemed to be enjoying himself slightly - but the thought quickly left his head as the oxygen flow slowed to his brain. The blood seemed to be draining from his head and moving south, pooling instead in his groin, unable to control the reaction. ”You said this, after you had watched me piss myself, and had shot my eye out,” he said, and Ocelot gave a visible flinch at the subject of John’s eye.

John took his foot off of Ocelot’s neck, letting him sputter and gasp for air, seeing the slight bruising on his neck beginning to grow. Leaving the blond in the middle of the room, he stepped back to the table, looking over the remaining instruments as he heard Ocelot struggle to regain some normality in his breath.

He turned around with a gun from the table in his hand. Ocelot went still, wondering how far John would go on his first attempt. He knew the gun was loaded - he had loaded it himself only a half hour ago. John clicked off the safety and took his previous place, boot on Ocelot’s neck, the gun pointed directly at the man’s forehead.

“It is. Isn’t it?” he demanded, leaning down to push the gun closer to Ocelot’s face. “That’s why you tracked me down. Asked me to form this group with you,” he asked, with a hard push to the throat. Ocelot’s breath is going without regard to appearance now, the blood flowing easily through his body with the accelerated heart rate, still seeming to fill him with thoughts removed from simply torture, suddenly all too aware of how incredibly tight his pants had become.

The room was silent, except for the short, quick breaths from Ocelot as he struggled to bring in air. His eyes were focused on John, his whole body shaking, as John looked him over slowly, taking his whole body in. John’s eyes stilled on the straining crotch of Ocelot’s jeans, listening to the strained breathing speed up as he stared, and looked up to see Ocelot’s face far redder than it had been a moment prior, eyes looking straight ahead instead of at him, as they had been almost the whole time. He laughed.

“It looks like I have my answer,” he said, and removed his foot from Ocelot’s neck, watching him choke and sputter for air. 

John pulled a knife from his belt and reached down to grab the ropes around Ocelot’s elbows, pulling him up by the restraints. Cutting first the wrist, then the elbow restraints, he dropped Ocelot to the cement floor, letting his face crash into the ground with a groan. That was sure to leave a bruise as well.

“I’m starting to see why you like this,” John said, turning on heel to leave the room. “Let’s do this again.” 

Ocelot heard the door click from where he lay on the floor, and scrambled to his feet only once the door had closed, checking himself over. The kick to his ribs had ripped some buttons from the shirt, he noticed, checking the skin underneath. No broken ribs, but blue and purple were slowly spreading across his side. His wrists and elbows were the same, along with the growing yellowing and grey-purple on his throat. On top of all that, he was still rock-hard. With a sigh, face still red, but mostly now from embarrassment, Ocelot leaned against the table and unbuckled his belt, wondering if he’d made a mistake as he thought of a blue eye and a rough laugh at his expense.


	3. Chapter 3

The next evening found Ocelot anxiously awaiting Big Boss’ arrival. He was dressed again in a simple shirt and slacks - something nice enough to be enjoyable to rough up, but nothing so nice he couldn’t replace it with ease. He stood completely still in the room as soon as he heard the sound of footsteps echoing down the hall to him, finding he had to consciously control his breathing so as not to sound nearly as excited as he was.

Ocelot strained to keep his eyes forward as Big Boss rounded the corner, stopping only a few steps into the room to observe the scene. The blond stood stock-still with his back to the table, which this evening contained a few more items of a decidedly more sexual nature. Briefly, he wondered where Ocelot had gotten them from - they appeared relatively unused, and he had seen enough of the man’s interrogation techniques to know that they weren’t being used as part of torture.

His attention turned to Ocelot, stepping around the man to take him in. His head is high, his eyes straining not to look to the side, and his lips parted just slightly. Big Boss had never been one for picking up on the subtleties of human motion other than what would be useful in combat, but was easy to tell, watching Ocelot, that he was anxious. Aroused, even, if the tinge of pink on his cheek and the full-blown pupils were any indication. 

This had turned from a demonstration of torture into something else, Big Boss realized, as he finished his circle around Ocelot, walking up to the table to examine some of the newer devices. Some of them, he didn’t recognize, such as a wooden-handled wheel with spikes, but others, such as two leather straps that buckled together with a metal ring in the center, what he assumed was a gag, he could guess the purpose of. Turning, Big Boss leaned against the table, watching over Ocelot to see how long it would take him to move. Turned into something else, indeed. Ocelot seemed to be waiting for him to make a move, he thought. Something to acknowledge him directly. He wondered, if he gave the man an order, would he comply?

“Get down on your knees,” he instructed.

Ocelot started to move, hesitating for half a second, before sinking to his knees and taking in an audible, slightly shaky breath. Big Boss smiles.

Picking up the length of rope from the table, he knelt behind Ocelot, tying his wrists together, and then his ankles in a similar fashion, leaving a short length of rope between them. Enough for Ocelot to sit straight up on his knees if he strained, but no more. Checking the knots, Big Boss got to his feet and worked his way around Ocelot to stand a short distance in front of him.

“You’re following orders?” he asked as he watched Ocelot’s eyes look everywhere but straight ahead, straight to his crotch. The blond’s ears started to get red at the comment, blatantly embarrassed but afraid to say so. In his eagerness, he had gone against the experience he was trying to give Big Boss - torture, not… whatever they were doing.

Big Boss grabs Ocelot by the chin, the same way he had the night before, trailing his thumb across Ocelot’s lips and watching his pupils dilate. “Just like a good soldier,” Boss said, moving the hand over Ocelot’s face and into his hairline, threading his fingers through the blond hair. Ever so slightly, Ocelot leaned into the hand on the side of his head as Big Boss looked him over. He had grown into his cheekbones, he noted, but his eyes were as intense as they had been when the two of them had first met.

Without warning, Boss’ fist connected with the lower side of Ocelot’s head, sending him over onto the floor with a yelp as his head impacted the rough cement. Ocelot’s vision swam in front of his eyes as he heard Big Boss’ footsteps close in on him, and could feel the man’s gaze on his bleeding face. The fist to the back of his head would bruise, but the impact on the cement skinned his cheekbone, blood starting to pool in the wound. 

“You like following orders?” Boss asked, taking a step closer so that his feet were just over a foot away from Ocelot’s head. “Let’s see what you will and won’t do.” The blond coughed, spitting out blood in the process, and looked up the length of Boss’ legs, vision of his face blurry. “Lick my boot.”

Ocelot looked at him for a short period of time, debating the idea, before heaving his body forward, inching forward on the ground towards Big Boss’ boot, tongue extended in attempts to reach it as he kept inching forward, scraping his hands against the rough cement. Moving close enough, Ocelot stuck his tongue out, running it along the toe of the boot, ignoring the gritty taste of dirt and god-knows-what-else on his shoe. His eyes stayed upward, looking towards Big Boss for approval as he continued to lick at the leather, breath shuddering and cheeks red. 

Looking down, watching Ocelot on his side, following his orders for what seemed like the first time in his life, Big Boss couldn’t help but notice the very apparent bulge in Ocelot’s trousers, and the way his hips thrust with every tiny noise he made. “Good soldier,” he told the blond, leaning down to rest on one knee, slide his fingers through Ocelot’s hair again.

Fingers tightening in Ocelot’s short hair, he pulled the man up to look at him, the pain in his scalp evident in Ocelot’s face as he held him up. “You know,” he mused taking his time in examining Ocelot’s face. “I still don’t understand what you see in torture. However…” he tightened his grip slightly, as Ocelot’s eyes slit slightly out of focus. “I think I can get behind this. Because this? You like,” he said, dropping Ocelot’s face to the cement again. “And I do enjoy taking care of my friends.”

Standing, Big Boss put his foot to Ocelot’s shoulder and pushed him over to his side, as much as his arms and legs tied behind his back would allow, Ocelot’s flush, bleeding face staring straight up at him from the ground. “Is this making you hard, soldier?” he asked,, his own voice struggling to stay steady. He was surprised he was enjoying the situation as much as he was, especially considering the recent developments. 

Ocelot looked at him in awe, almost, as Boss called him ‘soldier’ as opposed to his name. As if he weren’t worth that name right now. He nodded, moving his hips upward out of natural response, seeking friction. “Snake…” He whispered, voice cracking. Big Boss stood still. “Yes--” Ocelot replied, feeling how hot his face was and how hard his cock had become in his pants. 

“If you want this,” Big Boss said, starting to walk in a circle around Ocelot. “I’m going to have to set up a few rules.”

“First,” Boss stated, standing at Ocelot’s feet, not giving him a chance to reply. “You are to respond to any question or order I give you with ‘Yes, Boss’, and with the utmost respect. Is that clear?” He looked down Ocelot’s thighs at him, enjoying the sight of his legs and arms still caught beneath him. 

WIth little hesitation, Ocelot nodded his head up and down. “Yes, Boss-” he said, trying very obviously to keep his voice from wavering. 

“Good soldier,” Boss smiled, walking slowly to Ocelot’s side, watching the man shiver at the title. ‘Soldier’. So much less than what he thought himself to be, to call Ocelot by such a name was to bring him down. It was a good choice. “Second,” he said, stopping by Ocelot’s head. “There is no stopping once we’ve started. If you have any objections, you must voice them before we start. I will not do you any permanent harm, but you have no right to say no to what I choose to do once we start.”

“Yes, Boss,” Ocelot replied, almost a whine as he shifted on the floor to have a better view of Big Boss.

“Finally,” he started, looking down at Ocelot. “I expect these rules to be followed at all hours of the day. You are still allowed to call it quits, but unless you state you are doing so, I will expect obedience and respect at all hours of the day. Is that understood?”

Ocelot hesitated, trying to clear his mind, trying to think of the consequences of responding to this. Obviously, he knew, they would still be expected to work together on missions, and planning operations. His opinion would still be requested and respected when it came the subject of tactical advantage and other related subjects. However, this was different. This was everything else - the rest of his life, subject to Big Boss’ whims. The thought was exciting. 

“Yes, Boss,” he said finally, usual smirk coming back to his face, excited and looking forward to what might come of this situation.

“Good soldier,” Boss smiled, crossing his arms. “I’m glad to see we’re on the same page. Now then…” he started, smile growing wider. “I want you to take care of your hard cock,” he instructed, much to Ocelot’s surprise. “A soldier doesn’t need things like this distracting him from his job,” Boss continued, enjoying the flustered man beneath him.   
Ocelot’s hips jerked upward again, cock straining against the confines of his trousers. “Boss…” he whispered, closing his eyes and wishing his arms and legs weren’t tied together. Face hot and embarrassed, he thrust his hips upward, trying to get as much friction as he could from the fabric of his pants. After a moment, though, he felt a surprise pressure at the underside of his cock, causing his eyes to spring open. Big Boss was once again standing in front of him, boot beneath Ocelot’s ass and shin pressing up against him, eye locked on Ocelot’s face.

Breathing heavily, flushed, he took advantage of the unexpected situation, grinding himself up against Boss’ shin, giving him much needed pressure. He whined, biting his teeth as he whimpered ‘Boss’, and under his breath, ‘John...’, giving a loud shout as he came in his pants, feeling the gross, sticky warmth pool just beneath his waistband.

Big Boss gave a half-laugh as he watched Ocelot come undone, turning him over and cutting the rope binding his wrists and ankles after he had brought himself to orgasm, before walking out of the room without another word. Ocelot had to clean himself up, and he - well, he had to figure out just what about Ocelot made this situation so tempting, and so worth-while.


End file.
